Even though Father’s Day is about six months off from Hannukah, it always makes me think of my taciturn father’s potato pancakes.
Made in a large, battered cast iron pan, these latkes were always perfect: crisp outside, juicy inside, delicious whether with sour cream, sugar, apple sauce, or just plain. My brother and I tried them every way.
I loved to watch my father cook, as patient as a scientist, as skilled as a musician playing a piece he’s performed more times than he can remember. Sometimes he even made what he called a potato babka: pouring the batter into a large loaf pan and baking it.
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